


Ghosts

by orphan_account



Category: Angel The Series
Genre: Post Series Fic, but not really, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10903866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Maybe loneliness is a side effect of hell.





	Ghosts

“Rise and shine, Wes, ‘cause you’ve made it to the promised land.”

Hearing Lilah’s voice, Wesley snaps awake immediately. He freezes for a second when he sees the endless expanse of white space in every direction, and his hand flies to the place Vail had stabbed him moments before. He then concentrates at the white table in front of him and the white chair on the opposite side of the table. Everything was so pristine white, Wesley thought he could’ve gone blind.

“I’m supposed to be dead,” says Wesley, as he stands from his chair, astonished. The ripped remains of his clothing felt real enough, but he couldn’t seem to locate the wound itself. In fact, it seemed that it had sealed up completely, leaving no trace that a knife had even entered his body in the first place.

“Well, guess where you are!” Lilah throws up her hands, walking over from the back of Wesley’s chair and crossing to the other side of the table. She takes her place, and indicates for Wesley to do the same. “Well, you sucked at staying alive, so here you are.”

“Not heaven,” remarks Wesley, in a wavering tone. “And also, I do recall that _you_ did most of the sucking.”

Lilah smirks, but swiftly regains her composure. “I’m not here to discuss the juicy details of our love affair. In fact, I’m here to discuss something far greater.”

“Which is…?”

“Your afterlife,” Lilah reveals. She brings out a document from her briefcase. Wes glances over the small print.

“My contract,” says Wes, “what about it?”

Lilah raises an eyebrow. “Standard perpetuity clause, if you haven’t forgotten. And I wonder what happened last time when you tried to attempt to rescind such a clause on your own.”

“The Senior Partners have made the decision to reactivate you, and it seems that they’re going to make you quite a hefty offer. If you don’t take the offer - well, it’s not like you have a choice - it’s going to be Hell for all eternity.” Lilah explains. “In fact, it’s Hell right now.”

With a wave of Lilah's hand, the scenery melts away, and replacing the endless white is now the view from Lilah’s former office.

“That’s not what Los Angeles looks like now.” Wesley presumes, peering down at the lively, bustling city down below. The late-afternoon sun casts shadows of skyscrapers tearing through the atmosphere, and endless streams of traffic run, neverending.

Lilah shakes her head. “In fact, it’s all on fire now. I mean, if the rain of fire wasn’t dramatic enough, well. The Senior Partners sent Los Angeles down to Hell.” She crosses her arms as she perches slightly on her office table. “And I think I’m kinda enjoying it.”

“They did _what_?” Wesley steels himself, and he’s holding all he can to stop himself from launching himself across the room and tearing at Lilah. He's conflicted, honestly. On one hand, he's not motivated to give a damn about those people down there, but on the other hand he envisioned dying to save the world, and not dying with the world.

He’s about to say that there are hundreds of thousands of people living their normal lives and not giving Wolfram and Hart a single bit of trouble, but he stops himself. Lilah’s not going to listen to this kind of reason.

Maybe the woman before him isn’t Lilah at all, but an illusion sent by the Senior Partners. Anything could be possible, when it came to Wolfram and Hart.

“Bingo,” Lilah announces. “You were always the smart one, Wes.”

Lilah’s words leave a bitter taste as he attempts to come to grips with the current situation.

“What, you thought you’d wake up in heaven with your dear old Fred, and you’d live happily ever after? And when you first saw me here when you woke up in the White Room, you thought you’d be sent down to Hell just to be with me? You’ve got the best of both worlds, but dream on.” Not-Lilah says, spiteful.

"What makes you think,” Wes starts, his voice laced with poison, "that I would want to be with Lilah Morgan for all eternity, of all people?”

"Face it. You hated me the whole time.”

“You're not her.” He exasperates. “Stop assuming her form. I’m tired of having to accept lies.”

Not-Lilah raises an eyebrow. “You let Illyria lie to you, as you were dying.”

He blinks hard, and when he opens his eyes again, he nearly panics when he sees himself in a freshly pressed suit, a pair of rimless glasses perched squarely on the bridge of his nose. The memories resurface, and it takes all of Wesley’s effort to not snap and rip those glasses from his face and smash them underfoot -

“Something from your past. We thought you’d like it.” It’s Lilah’s voice again, but Wesley refuses to accept it. He completely blocks her out of his mind, despite her constant pleas and a few moments later, she’s gone.

Wesley tugs at his tie, eager to unravel the knot that sits at his throat. He shakes his head, mumbling under his breath, “Those days are over. I’ve wanted to let go of that past self for so long and now that I’ve passed on, it comes back to haunt me -”

He gapes in horror as his hand passes through the fabric. He tries again, but the same results return _. I can’t feel my skin, nor can I feel anything around me. I’ve been reanimated a-as a ghost!_

“It is your duty to the Senior Partners that you have been appointed as our liaison,” A great chorus of voices booms overhead, sending shivers into his bones (Do ghosts have bones, he wonders?). It’s a great chorus, and he can hardly separate one voice from the multitude of others, much less recognise any of them.

Wesley hesitates, before choking out the next few words. “I accept my assignment.” As the words leave his mouth, the world around him swirls. He closes his eyes, but finds himself falling. Once he opens his eyes, he is back in the White Room, alone.

“Here you shall wait until we see it fit to allow you to communicate with Angel.” The chorus orders, and silence follows.

But what is there to do, in this empty void? He considers letting out a shout, but he knows that the sound will travel infinitely without reaching anybody. He’s in complete isolation. Solitude.

 _Maybe loneliness is a side-effect of hell_ , he muses, silently awaiting.

 


End file.
